


Everybody Knows Your Name

by deanswingsbothways



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Mostly Fluff, Multi, Slow Burn, before anything interesting happens, literally gonna be like a zillion chapters of awkward friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-15 23:21:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3465767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deanswingsbothways/pseuds/deanswingsbothways
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean works at an awesome bar called The Roadhouse, along with a cast of ridiculous friends and regulars who make his days better. Occasionally he indulges a little healthy ogling of one of the local musicians, a perpetually-grumpy violin player. His life is just fine until Ellen takes it upon herself to HIRE the violin player, at which point Dean's life goes to utter hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blame tumblr for this.
> 
> Also, the bat story is completely true.

Dean was pretty sure the universe was arranging itself specifically to make his day better.

The suspicion had first arisen when he’d woken up to the smell of bacon. He pulled a shirt over his head and walked into the kitchen to find Sam standing over the stove.

“Morning, bro,” Sam said cheerily. He used his spatula to point Dean toward the coffee pot, which was on the last spluttery drops of brewing the good stuff they usually reserved for their days off. “I’m making pancakes, too.”

“What’s the occasion?” Dean said incredulously.

Sam, who avoided cooking wherever possible and whose preferred breakfast was a granola bar eaten in two bites on his way out the door, shrugged.

“Couldn’t sleep, I’ve got that job interview,” he explained. “Figured I might as well be useful.”

An hour later, Dean was fed, showered, and out the door. Sam had insisted on doing the dishes because cleaning calmed his nerves.

Already grinning because getting out of dish duty was a minor miracle, Dean proceeded to hit every green light on the way to Bobby’s Garage. He arrived at work a responsible ten minutes early, which had Bobby looking at him askance since Dean usually pulled in the parking lot at 7:59 for his 8 am shifts.

Jazzed on good coffee, with breakfast warm in his belly, warmed by the beautiful Texas weather, Dean could only grin at Bobby as he pulled on his coveralls. “Stop gaping, Bobby, stranger things have happened.”

Bobby looked at his watch, looked at Dean’s chipper face, harrumphed, and said only, “That Camaro needs to be out of here today, boy. It’s an eyesore.”

Dean had been putting it off because he really didn’t want to pull apart the steering column. Anytime he had to get in a steering column was a bad day, but he was relatively sure he was going to have to scare up replacements for every switch in there, not just the ostensibly broken dimmer switch. And he didn’t want to spend any more time than necessary digging around the scrapyard for switches for a twenty year old car that should be scrapped anyway.

When he finally got the steering column taken apart, he realized that the dimmer switch wasn’t even broken, just misaligned. Resetting it where it went was the work of minutes, and shaved two hundred bucks off the cost they’d quoted a bedraggled looking college kid who clearly couldn’t afford to both eat and replace the switches in his old, nasty car.

The kid was over the moon when Dean called him to come pick up his piece of crap vehicle. 

Someone at the Burger Barn put an extra burger in Bobby’s to-go bag by accident, so Dean got free lunch, too. 

He clocked out at two-thirty, took a five minute shower in the back, and changed into his other work clothes. He pulled into the parking lot at the Roadhouse at three to start prepping for their four o’clock opening time.

Ellen’s battered old truck was already in the parking lot, which was unusual for a Thursday. He walked in to find her cutting limes behind the bar. 

“Hey, Ellen,” he said with a wave.

“Howdy, son,” she replied. “Prep’s done, I was training the new girl.”

Actual breakfast, no crawling around early nineties cars in the salvage yard, free lunch, and now no pre-shift prep? Dean was pretty sure the day could not be improved upon, at least until the new girl came out of the walk-in carrying a case of beer.

Dean’s eyebrows rose as he took in long legs, shiny blonde hair, and a pretty smile. The girl blushed under his gaze.

“Dean Winchester,” he said, hurrying over to relieve her of the case of Budweiser. “And you are?”

“Jess,” she said, a dimple twitching in her cheek as she smiled up at him.

“Your new coworker,” Ellen said pointedly, and Dean immediately turned to put the longnecks in the beer well. 

The new girl looked confused.

“We only have a couple rules here,” Ellen said, gesturing toward the new girl. It was rather threatening since she still clutching the knife she’d been using to cut limes. “Number one, don’t sleep with your coworkers. Especially Dean. Watch out for Dean.”

“That rule offends me,” Dean opined.

“Shut up,” Ellen said, still pointing at the new girl emphatically with the knife. “Rule number two, don’t sleep with the regulars either. They spend a lot of money here, and if they stop spending money here because of you, you’re fired.”

“Except Lilith,” Dean said on a chuckle.

“Lilith was creepy and I’m a little bit glad you ran her off,” Ellen allowed. “Don’t make me fire you on principle, son.”

The new girl was looking increasingly worried, but Ellen just kept talking.

“Rule number three, if anyone touches you any way you don’t like, Dean here will cut off their hands.”

“Is that going to be necessary?” Jess squeaked.

“Nah,” Dean assured her. “This isn’t exactly a grab-ass kind of place.”

“That rule is more for your knowledge,” Ellen said. “Just in case you’re the kind of person who doesn’t speak up for herself. Anybody makes you feel creepy, anyone demands a hug you don’t want to give, anyone touches you without your permission, you tell them off. And if you’re too shy, tell me or Dean and we’ll handle it.”

“Rule number four,” Charlie sing-songed as she came in from the kitchen, “don’t drool over the violin guy too obviously or Dean will cut YOUR hands off.”

“I do NOT drool over the violin guy,” Dean insisted.

“What are you doing here on your day off?” Ellen asked.

“I’m gonna drink free beer while I revamp our facebook presence,” Charlie said, waving her laptop as proof. “And yes, Dean, you drool over the violin guy.”

“Thursdays are our local artist night,” Ellen explained to Jess. “You’ll get to know a lot of the local musicians. Be nice to them, they’re good people.”

“You will not get to know the violin guy,” Charlie clarified, sitting on a barstool and opening her laptop. “He comes in, he plays violin accompaniments for an hour or so with all the guys, he orders exactly one beer, and he leaves. He talks to no one except like three musicians.”

“He doesn’t even shoot the shit with Jo,” Ellen agreed. “And everyone shoots the shit with Jo.”

“He’s shy,” Dean said, feeling a little defensive of the man he barely knew.

“He’s aloof,” Charlie said. “Although… kind of dreamy.”

“And Dean has a big fat crush on him?” Jess asked, a little too innocently.

“Exactly,” Charlie said with a laugh. “I like her, Ellen, let’s keep her.”

“I just met you and you’ve already betrayed me,” Dean told Jess accusingly.

“Which means you’ll fit in just fine around here,” Ellen said, clapping Jess on the shoulder. “Now come to the back and let me show you how to stock beer in the walk-in.”

Since stocking beer in the walk-in had been the next item on Dean’s to-do list, he was still calling it a good day. Even if he was pretty sure Charlie was attempting to Facebook stalk the violin guy, judging from the way she edged her laptop screen away from him. 

Over the next few hours, a regular won big on a lottery ticket and tipped him $50 bucks, he found a bottle of Jameson 12-year when he’d been sure they were out, and Sam texted him to say he’d gotten the job he’d interviewed for.

By the time eight o’clock rolled around, he was listening to Charlie explain the backstories and drink preferences of all their regulars to Jess with one ear, and listening to a group of giggly nurses talk about how cute his butt was with the other ear.

Nothing red-letter about the day, just a bunch of funny little things that put it on the map as the kind of day he wished he had all the time. Just as he was pondering this, the door opened to let in a gust of air, a windswept man with a violin case, and a live bat.

“Oh jeez,” Charlie said, as the violin guy twisted to watch the bat follow him and head for the rafters. “Not again.”

Unable to find a suitable place to alight, and clearly panicking, the bat beat frantic circles around the pub, dive-bombing the patrons. One of Dean’s coworkers from the garage shrieked, the nurses ducked for cover, and Dean stomped over to the doors. The Roadhouse had two doors that both opened outward, so Dean put his palm against one and the sole of his shoe against the other. 

“Alright, buddy, time to go,” he yelled. Then it occurred to him that he was talking to a wild animal.

He was more surprised than anyone when the bat immediately flew off through the open doors into glorious freedom.

“Nobody cross Dean, he can literally kick live animals out of the bar,” Charlie hollered from her barstool. 

“He’s the Bat Whisperer,” Jess said, voice thick with laughter.

People were starting to laugh.

Dean drew himself up to his full height, glared around at everyone who was laughing, and said with as much dignity as he could muster, “That’s right, and y’all better shut up if you don’t want me to sic the whole colony on your cars.”

Naturally, everyone fell out laughing again. Entertainment was the aspect of Dean’s job he was best at, and he continued to glare regally as he walked back to the bar. Which is when he noticed, with an offended pang, that the violin guy hadn’t so much as cracked a smile.

Dean was being funny. Dean just kicked a bat out of the bar. Dean just ridiculously threatened to have bats shit on the cars of people who laughed at him. That was quality comedic material right there, the kind of shit that didn’t happen at the dance club downtown. It was pure down-home charm at it’s finest. The least the guy could do was crack a smile.

“I’ll take a Bud Light,” violin guy said in that gravelly voice, putting a five dollar bill on the bar. Dean had already turned to pull one out of the beer well when he heard violin guy add, “And hold the guano.”

Dean snorted with surprise more than anything. “Only because you asked nice,” he drawled, setting the bottle in front of the violin guy with a smile.

And then, miracle of all miracles, the tiniest of answering smiles curved around the violin guy’s mouth before he turned away toward his usual table in the corner. This was really a red-letter day after all.

“Oh my sweet Jesus,” he heard Jess whisper behind him.

“Right?” Charlie said. “It’s disgusting.”

“Put it back in your pants and throw me two Coors Lights, a Budweiser, and a KD and coke,” Jo cooed from the cocktail well. 

“I’m just being friendly,” Dean said, glaring at all the grinning faces as he scooped ice into a rocks glass.

“Are you sure?” asked Garth, one of the guys who showed up every week to pick a little guitar. “Because I’m pretty sure I saw little hearts pop out of your head and explode.”

“You’re cut off, buddy,” Dean joked, pointing his beer key in Garth’s direction. 

“I just got here!” Garth whined.

“Then don’t sass me,” Dean warned, sliding him his usual Lonestar and a koozie. 

He set Jo’s drinks on the cocktail mat, and opened his mouth to deliver a scathing remark to his coworkers. Unfortunately, at that very moment, the sounds of a violin being tuned started floating above the canned music piping through the bar.

Dean fumbled and almost dropped the last longneck completely.

And after that his credibility was pretty much shot, so he just gave up the argument and went back to flirting with the nurses. There was an upswing in activity when all the musicians started showing up, and Dean was pretty steadily busy for a couple hours.

He looked up and realized that it was almost eleven, which is why he was surprised when he turned to find the violin guy standing at the bar, a fresh beer in hand as he engaged in conversation with Ellen.

He gave Charlie a “what the hell?” look, about both the talking and the second beer, but she shrugged in equal confusion and went back to her laptop. 

Ten minutes later, Ellen walked up to Dean with the violin guy trailing behind her like a baby chick.

“Dean, meet our new floater,” she said, gesturing behind her. “Castiel Novak, meet my right-hand man, Dean Winchester.”

“Our new…” Dean furrowed his brow, squinted at Ellen.

Oh, yeah. They’d had a conversation last week, after they’d hired Jess for their last regular slot, about the viability of hiring a part-timer for cooking, bar-backing, maybe a couple of slow bar shifts during the week, and basically anything else that needed done. 

Apparently she’d decided she could swing the extra wages.

The violin guy - _Castiel Novak_ \- was observing him like a bug under a microscope as Dean processed all of this information.

“I, well,” Dean said, floundering. “Um, welcome aboard, Castiel.”

He heard one of the girls snicker behind him.

Clearly, the universe was out to ruin his life.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean pulled up to the Roadhouse the next Monday, glowering.

“Just show him where everything is,” Ellen had said over the phone. “Let him wash a few dishes and cook a few baskets of food, it’s not exactly rocket science. Mondays are slow, he’ll be fine.”

“I thought you were gonna train him,” Dean said, stuffing half a burger into his mouth on his lunch break at the garage.

“Well one of us has to track down Ben to fix the damn ice machine, and it’s not gonna be you.”

“Touche,” Dean had said, his voice garbled through the quarter pound of beef he was attempting to chew. 

So here he was, at the bar at three o’clock in the afternoon, and Castiel Novak was standing outside a beat-up Corsica with his hands in his pockets. 

“What’s shakin’, Cas?” Dean said as he opened his car door.

“Nice car,” Castiel said instead of the usual pleasantries, his eyes raking the Impala from stem to stern.

Dean cracked a grin. “Thanks.”

“I don’t know anything about cars,” Castiel continued, coming forward to peer more closely. “But I think this car is my new girlfriend.”

“On top of everything else, now Baby’s cheating on me,” Dean said dramatically, throwing his hands in the air. He was secretly pretty tickled that Castiel appreciated a fine piece of machinery like his beloved Impala.

He turned just in time to catch Castiel hide a smile, and wondered if the compliment had been solely intended to get into Dean’s good graces. 

“Anyway,” Dean said, changing the subject and jerking his head toward the Roadhouse. “Let’s get to it.”

He showed Castiel how to set up the bar, how to open the kitchen, how to prep garnishes and ice down all the wells. He showed him how to check stock in the kitchen, where to find additional food in the industrial freezers upstairs, and how to properly rotate beer cases in the walk-in.

Castiel listened attentively, observed closely, and asked appropriate questions. Other than that, he didn’t talk much, so Dean found himself over-explaining things just to fill the silence.

“And then we clean the taps, but you won’t have to know how to do that just yet,” Dean said, forty-five minutes later. “If we blow a keg tonight I’ll show you, but usually one of the bartenders will handle it. Um… what else? Any questions so far?”

“Yes,” Castiel said seriously. “When do I get to learn how to control the bats?”

Dean let out a sharp bark of laughter. “We don’t give that power to newbies, Cas. You’re gonna have to pass initiation first.”

“What’s initiation?” Cas asked.

“I can’t really get into detail,” Dean bullshitted. “But there’s definitely a couple blood sacrifices, gratuitous nudity, and a really sweet Black Sabbath soundtrack involved.”

“I look forward to it,” Cas deadpanned. Dean thought he saw a slight twitch at the corner of Cas’ mouth, but he couldn’t be a hundred percent sure.

“Anyway,” Dean continued, “that’s about all for prep. And we still have fifteen minutes to kill before we open. Want a beer?”

“Are we allowed?” he asked, eyes widening slightly.

“You work in a bar now,” Dean said. “This is quality control. Or training. Whatever. Just don’t get shithoused on the clock and you can pretty much do what you want. That’s rule five.”

“What are the other rules?” Cas asked as Dean passed him a beer.

“Rule one,” Dean said, and willed himself not to blush, “don’t fuck your coworkers. Rule two, don’t fuck the regulars. Rule three, if anyone touches you, cut their hands off.”

“What’s rule four?” Cas asked.

“What?”

“You said that not getting inebriated on the clock was rule five, what’s rule four?”

Dean cursed Charlie for her alternate rule four that had somehow screwed up his count, and he tried to quell the color currently reddening his neck and ears. “I was wrong, there are only four rules. Those are them.”

Cas squinted at him, clearly trying to understand why Dean’s discomfort was so out of line with his question, but thankfully Charlie took that moment to barge through the door.

“Don’t you ever go home?” Dean asked. “You’re not working today.”

“Shut up and beer me, Winchester,” she said, sliding her laptop onto the bar and opening it. “I’ve got terrible news.”

“What?” Dean asked warily as he popped the top off a Lonestar.

“We have over a hundred online pre-sale tickets for the show this weekend,” Charlie said, with the air of the person who comes to your door to tell you they ran over your dog.

“What? But that’s great!”

“Online pre-sales are usually a third of the people who show up,” Charlie moaned, accepting her beer. “I hate being busy.”

“Busy means money,” Dean reminded her.

“Busy means busy,” she groused. “Why do you think I like the Sunday and Wednesday shifts so much?”

“It’s because she can play on her laptop and ignore the three people in the bar,” Dean told Cas.

“Exactly,” Charlie said. “Give me twenty people for pool league over three hundred people for Jones any day of the week.”

“Jones?” Cas asked.

“Mack Jones,” Dean clarified. “Texas country artist, plays here once or twice a year. He draws a big crowd but they’re rowdy.”

The rest of the afternoon was spent pretty enjoyably, as Charlie thought up a hundred new things to tell Cas. They introduced him to all the Monday regulars, including the daily five o’clock crowd. Cas was in the middle of a long convoluted bit with a table of regulars that promised to turn into a regular inside joke (something about a non-existent friend of theirs named Stefan, Dean had stopped paying attention five minutes before) when Bela walked in wearing a pair of leggings that were probably illegal in twenty-four states.

Castiel stared. Bela winked at him. Dean definitely did not get jealous.

“Is this our new floater?” she asked, sticking out her hand for Cas to shake.

Cas dutifully shook, and blinked rapidly several times while trying to meet Bela’s eyes. Dean was used to her by now, but she was a lot of raw sex appeal to take in at first glance.

Dean was definitely not jealous.

“Yup,” he said, in response to her question. “Castiel Novak, meet Bela Talbot. She’s our closing bartender on Mondays. Come on, I’ll show you what we gotta do before we leave.”

They re-stocked the beer wells, filled the juices in the speed rack, and cut a couple more limes for garnishes. 

“And that’s about it for opening,” Dean said as he passed Bela with a high five. “You’ll come close with Bela or Charlie sometime this week, but I’m the opener unless it’s the weekend because I’ve got a day job too.”

“And pretty boy over here needs his beauty rest,” Bela said with a sardonic grin. “If he’s not home by midnight that male power fantasy of a car turns into a pumpkin.”

“That’s Cas’ new girlfriend you’re talking about,” Dean said.

Bela raised an eyebrow so far it practically disappeared into her hairline.

“I mean, he said, um, earlier,” Dean sputtered. “Nothing. Nevermind.”

Cas, who could have helped out, seemed perfectly content to stare at the ceiling with his lips very slightly pursed to fend off a grin.

“You’re fired,” Dean told him matter-of-factly.

“You’re not fired,” Bela assured Cas. “Dean, stop trying to fire the new people when they’re cute.”

“Rule number one, Bela,” he said warningly.

“Rule number one can suck my cock,” she said with a wink at Cas. “Don’t worry, hon, I’d never break the cardinal rule. You’re safe from me.”

“You’re the only one who’s safe,” Charlie muttered behind her laptop.

“You loved it,” Bela shot at her. “It was the best night of your life.”

Dean and Charlie looked at each other, made a face, and in unison brought their hands up to wiggle them non-committally at eye-level.

“Shut up, I’m amazing in bed,” Bela said, flicking a bottle cap at Dean.

Dean and Charlie brought their hands up to do the wiggly hand gesture once more. 

Cas looked really confused.

“Bela thinks rule number one is for squares,” Dean explained. “She managed to convince me of this fact oh, about eight months ago?”

“A year and a half ago,” Charlie said on a sigh, pointing at her own chest.

“And this doesn’t cause strife?” Castiel asked curiously.

“Nah, Bela’s Bela,” Dean said, plopping down on a barstool. “She’s not a love-love kind of person. She’s a love you for the day kind of person, and then you better leave her alone.”

“But I tell everyone that in advance,” Bela pointed out. “Nobody’s under the impression that they’re going to date me.”

“So you can’t date your coworkers, but you can have no-strings-attached sex with them?” Castiel asked, as if he was clarifying a math problem.

“Oh my darling,” Bela crooned, reaching out a hand to cup Castiel’s jaw. “You could only be so lucky. Unfortunately, Ellen read me the riot act after Dean and told me I was out on my third strike, so you’re going to have to live your life without seeing my boobs.”

“I’m sure I’ll find a way to cope emotionally,” Castiel said seriously. 

Dean was beginning to think Cas was fucking with all of them. The outer-space act had to be a front. He was almost positive he saw the corners of Castiel’s mouth twitch, but he couldn’t be sure.

*

“Throw the veggies on that burger and it’s good to go,” Dean said a few days later.

For as spacey as Castiel was, he moved quickly during a rush. He practically threw the lettuce, tomatoes, and pickles on the burger, before putting it on a plate with the waiting side of fries. 

Dean was the opening bartender, and he’d hoped to be out of the Roadhouse two hours ago. But Mack Jones brought in a loud, rowdy, drunk and hungry crowd. He and Cas were filling food orders as fast as they could and it still felt like they were perpetually behind.

“Two orders of mozzarella sticks and a plate of cheese fries!” Charlie yelled, then practically threw her ticket on the rack before running back out to continue popping the endless stream of bottlecaps on the domestic longnecks the Jones crowd tended to favor.

Dean turned to bark instructions at Cas, only to find the new kid dropping the order of fries without being directed. A minute and a half later, he threw the mozzarella sticks in so that everything would be done at the same time. 

Dean could appreciate a quick learner who moved efficiently. That’s the only reason he paused to admire Castiel’s sweaty face, his too-long hair sticking up every direction, and his triumphant grin at having done something properly without being asked.

That was the only reason Dean almost burned the hamburger buns he was toasting. Cleary.

“Is it always like this on weekends?” Cas asked as he plated the mozzarella sticks.

“Nah,” Dean responded, throwing cheese and bacon on the plate of fries. “This is unusually busy for us. Usually we only get about a dozen food orders in a night, and we’re on what, order sixty?”

Cas popped open two sides of ranch and stuck them on his plates. “Something like that. This is fun, though.”

Dean stopped and blinked incredulously, then turned to stick the plate of cheese fries in the microwave to melt. “You’ve got a weird definition of fun.”

“I like having something to keep me occupied,” Cas said.

“Charlie, you’re up!” Dean yelled out the kitchen door. Then he looked back at Cas and said, “Is that why you play the violin?”

Castiel just shrugged.

Dean had noticed it before, the incessant moving. If his hands weren’t on the violin strings, Cas was tapping his knee, peeling the label on his beer, drumming on the edge of the table. He was always moving. 

“I need two mushrooms,” Charlie said, poking her head in to stick her ticket on the rack and pick up her finished orders. She dropped a kiss on Dean’s cheek and said, “Awesome job, beautiful boys, you’re doing great in here and I love you!”

“You’re a great bartender and I love you!” Dean responded. 

“What’s with that?” Castiel asked, motioning toward the door as Charlie’s red hair whipped around the corner.

“It’s always nice to be appreciated,” Dean said. “We just… I dunno who started it, but we do that now. That and the kissing thing. Gets us through the night, you know?”

Castiel dropped both orders of fried mushrooms. “I bet Bela started the kissing thing.”

“I think it was Garth, actually,” Dean mused, wiping down the cutting board. “He worked here a while ago, started kissing everyone on the cheek, and we all just started doing it.”

“And now you guys all kiss each other all the time.”

“On the cheek,” Dean justified as he grabbed the sanitizer bottle. “It’s weird, yeah, but again...always nice to be appreciated. We’re a team.”

“Do most teams kiss each other?” Cas asked with the straight face Dean had already grown to associate with sarcasm.

“This team does,” Dean said, throwing him a wink. “Let me know when you wanna jump in on that.”

Castiel appeared to consider it for a moment, then said, “I’ll pass for now.”

Half an hour later, the food orders had pretty much stopped. 

“Everyone out there has food in front of them, I think you guys are good,” Ellen said as she walked around the corner. “Could you restock in here before you leave?”

Dean had spent the last twenty minutes washing dishes, so getting the kitchen the rest of the way into some semblance of order would be the work of ten minutes. “Ten-four, boss. How’re the girls out there?”

“The band’s wrapping up in fifteen, they’ll be fine,” she said, gave him a thumbs up, and disappeared around the corner again.

“Communication,” Castiel observed. “That’s pretty essential here?”

“You have to know what’s going on in every corner of the bar at all times,” Dean said. “Who’s drunk, who’s inappropriately making out, whether a bartender is in the weeds, whether the kitchen needs help…it’s all essential to doing your job well.”

“It’s a lot to remember.”

“It’s easy when you get the hang of it,” Dean assured him, grabbing a cloth bag to go grab fries out of the freezers upstairs. “You’re doing a great job and I love you!”

He was halfway up the stairs before he stuttered to a stop and hit himself in the face. When he walked back into the kitchen, Castiel was inexplicably beaming.

“What’s up?” Dean asked, unloading his cargo of frozen foods.

“I’m just starting to feel like part of the team,” Cas said warmly.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Dean warned, throwing fries into their waiting bucket in the freezer.

Castiel smiled to himself, a small secret smile that made Dean wish he was in on the joke. He finished restocking the freezer, walked Cas through sanitization and general spit-shining, and reminded him how to mark his time card when they clocked out.

The band was packing up, people were streaming out the door, and only the few heavy-drinking tables remained.

“Need me to stay and kick anyone out?” Dean asked Bela.

She turned slowly, surveyed the remaining tables, and shrugged. “Nah, everyone looks pretty in-hand. Jesse’s drunk, but he’s good about cabbing home so that shouldn’t be a problem. Enjoy your night, Winchester.”

“You’re a great cook and I love you!” Jess yelled. She’d adapted to Roadhouse communication like she was born to it. 

“You’re a bangin’ waitress and I love you,” Dean said, leaning in for the kiss on the cheek that he knew was incoming.

Cas palmed his car keys and looked uncomfortable.

“You’re an excellent barback and I love you,” Charlie told him, punching him in the shoulder because no one was sure where Cas fell in with the overly-affectionate atmosphere of The Roadhouse.

Much to everyone’s surprise, Castiel responded with, “You are great at your job and I love you,” and presented his cheek for a kiss. Charlie obliged with an overly-dramatic smacking noise and dropped him a wink on her way to de-ice the cocktail well.

As they headed toward the door, Castiel nudged Dean’s shoulder with his own and said, “Did I do it right?”

“Yeah man,” Dean assured him. “That was good. Where are you parked?”

“Right next to my girlfriend,” he said with a smile. 

Which is why Cas was present when Dean let out a series of curses at the iced-over state of his windshield. 

“I’m gonna have to let the heater run for a bit and go back inside,” Dean said apologetically. “I can’t drive with the window frosted over like that. Have a good night though.”

“I’ll fix it,” Castiel said, pulling out his wallet. 

“Nah, it’s fine,” Dean assured him.

“I’ve got it,” Castiel said. “I grew up in Wisconsin, I can scrape a windshield in my sleep.”

“I can’t let you do that, man.”

“Shut up, I’ve got it.”

“It’s cold as balls out here, dude,” Dean insisted. “She’ll warm up eventually.”

“That takes too long. Are you shivering?”

“It’s cold as balls out here, dude!” he repeated.

“Get in the car,” Cas ordered. “I’ve got you.”

Dean would forever deny the fact that a tiny thrill ran down his spine at the authoritative tone in Castiel’s voice. To avoid that little fact, he turned his most impressive glare on Cas.

“At least turn it on so the defroster helps me,” Cas compromised.

Dean gave in, opened his door, and turned the key in the ignition. He got back out of the Impala, because like hell was he gonna let some Yankee scrape his windshield while he sat in the car like a little girl who couldn’t handle a little bit of cold.

“It’s not working,” Cas said gravely. “Something’s wrong with your defroster.”

The second Dean jumped back into the car to figure out why his baby wasn’t working, Cas let out a chuckle and said, “Now do me a favor.”

“What’s that?”

Cas shoved his foot into the door with enough force to close it, then yelled through the closed window, “Stay in there and get warm.”

Dean was man enough to know when he’d been beat, so he glowered through the window as Castiel diligently scraped the ice from his windshield. When it was mostly clear, the new kid ducked his head down toward the door.

Dean cranked the window down and Castiel brandished what looked like a credit card.

“This is my employee card from the job I had six years ago,” Castiel informed him. “Just in case you ever have to do it by yourself, you can get rid of that level of ice with a decently-sturdy credit card.”

Dean gaped at him, feeling his figurative manhood shrink three sizes.

“Southerners, you’re all such babies,” Cas said on a sigh, then turned to the next parking space to scrape the ice off his own back windshield.

Dean tried to start at least three different sentences but ended up searching for words that wouldn’t come. 

“Go home, Dean,” Cas said, throwing the words over his shoulder. “You can owe me one.”

Dean checked his mirrors, looked over his shoulder, and pulled out of the parking space with a low-level simmer of simultaneous guilt and attraction roiling in his gut.

He was pretty sure, as he drove away, that Castiel was grinning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant this fic to be a series of things that actually happened to me, but these characters keep writing their own banter. Apparently if you throw Bela, Charlie and Dean in the same room, shit happens that you can't control. The windshield-clearing thing is actually the only thing in this chapter that actually happened to me, because some asshole from Wisconsin wouldn't let me stand outside in my miniskirt while he cleared my windshield with a Hot Topic card. Texas is having a cold front, by the way, and those of us who grew up here are very unused to it.


End file.
